Revenge Through Kuzco
by Theater Raven
Summary: The Emperor's New Groove"--We get a look into Yzma's tragic past and learn why she and Kuzco are the way we see them in the film.


**Revenge Through Kuzco**

She stood behind a stone pillar, listening to them chatter. There were six of them, all in a neat little row, all wanting the same thing. They were wishing each other luck, but she knew from experience that they all secretly despised each other because of the competition. Yes, they hated each other….

The door flew open and she heard the last notes of his daily theme song dying. Gosh, that song was so stinkin' annoying.

"Ha! Boom, baby!"

Ah, yes, his usual ending of the classic tune!

"Your Highness," said Tapto, the court jester, "It is time for you to choose your bride."

She heard his footsteps approach them.

"Let's take a look-see. Hate your hair. Not likely. Yikes, yikes, yikes…..and, let me guess, you have a great personality."

As the emperor dismissed all the girls who could have been his bride, she bit her lip to keep from snickering. When all were gone, she stepped out from behind her pillar and headed toward the throne room. She wanted to play queen for a while. As she ascended the steps leading to the mighty chair, she thought of all the disappointed young women who would collapse on their beds tonight, facedown, and sob themselves to sleep.

_Excellent, Kuzco_, Yzma thought as she settled herself in the chair,_ Just like I taught you._

A flood of memories came back into her mind. She tried to push them away, but couldn't….

Many years ago, a different Yzma stood outside the palace of Zazebwe. She was only seventeen. She had left her village in a neighboring empire that was friendly with the Borkucha. Her village had burned down and she was on her own, for her aunt whom she had been living with had not survived the fire and all her other family members were already dead, including her parents. Now she had traveled many miles to the capital of her allies, the beautiful, colorful city of Matomba, and had made her way to the palace.

She wanted to find work. She had to, if she was to survive. She was a street-smart girl who took mistreatment from no one, but she was also very well educated. Her aunt often said to her, "Young woman, here you should be helping me tend the crops and all you do is read books! Nothing but books! You thirst for knowledge like the corn thirsts for rain in the dry season!"

She winced at the remembrance of her aunt.

Yzma looked up at the shining gold walls. The glinting of the sun on them hurt her eyes. She took a deep breath, walked to the beginning of the staircase that consisted of hundreds of thousands of steps, and began to climb.

"Excuse me," she said to a guard, "I would wish to see Emperor Chessco."

"Follow me," the guard said.

She was led down the dark corridors, through many doors, up yet another set of stairs, and into a brightly lit room. A man was laying on the floor, praying before an image of the Borkucha god, Zotiz. He finished praying and turned around. He saw Yzma.

"Why have you come here today?" he asked. He looked to be about her age. She bowed, her long raven hair making a curtain around her head as she did so.

"Sir," she said, trying to mask her extreme nervousness," My name is Yzma. I am a member of the Endasi. I lost my village in the fire you must have heard broke through our lands. I…I am in need of employment. Forgive me, but I do not know your rank. Are you a priest? I can see the sign of the Borkucha faith on that pendant you wear."

Indeed, the young man wore an emerald star that hung from a chain around his neck. Yzma continued,

"Father, if you know the emperor, I would very much wish to see him so that I may ask for a position here in the palace."

"I know him well," the man replied. "I _am_ the emperor."

Horror struck her. Yzma fell to her knees, pressed her face to the floor, and raised her folded hands to him.

"Forgive me, Highest Earthly One, I am so sorry! I—I did not know, I…."

She had the nerve to look up at him, expecting him to call in his guards to have her executed for such an insulting blunder as to mistake him for only a priest. But he did not snap his fingers to summon them. Instead, he dragged her roughly to her feet and asked, "When can you start and what can you do?"

"I—I—I can cook. Wait, I'm not much of a cook. Uh, I can be a scribe. I know how to write….but I am not a fluent writer in your language yet. I—I know a lot about medicine. Yes, my aunt was teaching me the arts of medicine-making before….the fire."

"That is good," Emperor Chessco said. "My last medicine woman recently passed away and I've been meaning to find a replacement. First, though, I need you to make a list of all you know—nothing personal, just a standard procedure."

So she did and she was hired.

No sooner had she arrived at Zazebwe than Yzma was put to work. She was always busy making house calls and when she wasn't doing that, she was down in the medicine basement making remedies. She loved going down there. The basement was just the kind of environment she liked—quiet and not too brightly lit. The air was cool and misty from an indoor pond which housed the water plants she needed for certain salves. With the emperor's permission, she moved her bed down there and was only seen when coming up for meals or leaving to make a house call.

"Sire, I don't trust her," said Chessco's advisor, Rashana. "She is so secretive. Do not take her medicines. She could poison you."

"Nonsense," Chessco said with a casual wave of his hand. "Why would she do that, anyway? She is of the Endasi people. They are known for their herbal knowledge."

"Herbal knowledge can be used for good _and_ evil," Rashana reminded him. "They are also known for witchcraft."

"I see no reason to suspect her for any kind of foul play."

Rashana pursed her lips. "Well, Sire, I still have my doubts."

Yzma's basket crashed to the floor. She stooped to pick up the roots that could be used to cure headaches.

"For the love of pineapples, will you watch where you're—?" She didn't finish. Chessco was kneeling beside her to help. Her face flushed.

"I'm sorry, Master. I didn't realize it was you."

"You're just going to have to learn who I am, Yzma."

She was hurt by his words, but soon realized the joke in them.

"I want to thank you for the lily root drink you gave me last night. It helped with the food poisoning. Stupid cook can't tell what spoiled meat looks like. He thought the farmer had drizzled salsa Verde on the meat before selling it. Anyway, as you can guess, he doesn't work here anymore."

He flashed her a smile that made her feel unsteady when she tried to stand. She cleared her throat and said, "You're welcome, sir." She started down the hall.

"Hey, Yzma?"

She turned around.

"Yes, Master?"

"How old are you?"

"I am seventeen, sir."

"So am I."

She went down the hallway.

Up and down, up and down, move the grinder up and down. Yzma sat in the basement, crushing the roots that had been in her basket to make a powder which would be mixed with water for the drink which cured headaches.

_He smiled at me,_ she thought. _Could that mean…nah, how could it? I'm only a servant here. He is a king._

Her thoughts were interrupted when the grinder crushed her hand. She sucked her thumb, removed the powder, and poured it into the water jug that sat next to the grinding stone.

When the potion was made, Yzma jumped to her feet and began to pace quickly. She heard a splash and went to the window and peered out. The emperor was swimming in a pool that lay right outside her window. She could see him clearly as he swam laps, his back and shoulder muscles working like a jaguar's, his raven hair plastered to his head and shining in the sun….

Yzma turned from the window and began to pace again.

_Stop it, stop it,_ she told herself. _Get those thoughts out of your head. Quit it! Okay, that's it! He's in for it!_

Rashana's mouth fell open when all in the palace sat down to eat. The table was huge—hundreds of people were seated at it, with Chessco at the head and she on his right side. The medicine woman's seat was to his left, and this seating arrangement symbolically represented that to be a good emperor, a man must have good advice as well as good health.

The medicine woman's seat was empty, but it would soon be filled. As she crossed the room, all eyes followed Yzma. How could they not? She wore a kimono that fit her well enough to make all the men practically fall to their knees and she wore her long black hair down. Makeup adorned her face and gold hoop earrings hung from her ears. She sat at the table. The hush that had fallen when she entered gradually died away.

"Where did you get that kimono?" the emperor asked in a whisper.

"My uncle was a merchant. He once had the opportunity to travel to China. He brought this back for me. I've hardly ever worn it, but I just felt like it tonight."

He glanced around then whispered back, "A wise choice."

_I knew it would be._

When she shook out her napkin and placed it in her lap, Yzma reached under the table and found his hand. Her heart raced. No one was allowed to touch him unless permitted. She slowly wove her hand around his. Much to her surprise, his hand wrapped around hers and she had the courage to look at him. He gave her that smug-yet-warm smile.

Dinner was entertaining, as usual. Yzma found herself talking to Rashana, who, in spite of herself, was starting to befriend the new healer. She laughed at a joke the medicine woman told. Yzma asked Rashana if she had heard about the dull seaside town. It was so dull that one day the tide went out and never came back!

After dinner, Yzma returned to the basement to make an antidote to snake poisoning. She heard a splash again and looked out the window. Chessco was taking a nightly swim. The moonlight glinted on his almond skin and Yzma went to bed that night dreaming of what she knew she shouldn't.

She sat at the edge of the pool the next day, watching the door that led out to it from the palace for any signs that he might be coming. Yzma noticed a clump of plants growing by the pool that she knew could dull the agony brought on by a broken bone. She started to pick them, all the while watching the door. She had gathered enough and was about to leave when she heard the door open. Her head snapped around. There he was! She crawled into the foliage to hide and watch him. She looked at Chessco as he swam and she wished she could join him, but she knew that was impossible. Yzma couldn't swim.

"I know I should get these thoughts out of my head, but I can't. Everywhere I go, he's always around. I think he has these thoughts, too, but I daren't ask if he does or hint that I have them."

Yzma finished her diary entry, closed the book, and hid it in its normal place. She went back to dicing vines that could be used as an ointment for dry skin. When it was made, she added spices and oils to it to make it more luxurious. This had to be her best batch yet. It was for Chessco—he'd asked her for it himself.

Yzma finished the ointment, scraped it into a glass jar, twisted on the lid, and began to head up the long stairway that took her out of the basement. The sunlight burned her eyes when she opened the door. She walked to his room. She'd passed the door many times but she had never been inside. She knocked.

A little girl, one of Chessco's personal servants, answered the door. Yzma recognized her as six-year-old Natasha.

"State your business."

"I have the ointment for His Highness."

Natasha looked at her smugly.

"Let me in so I can give it to him," Yzma said.

Natasha did as she was told. Chessco was lying on his bed. Did he smile when Yzma came in? Could she see a twinkle in his black eyes or did she imagine it? Natasha took the jar from Yzma and unscrewed the lid, preparing to treat the emperor.

"Give Yzma the jar back, Natasha."

"But, Master—."

"Give it to her and leave."

Natasha bowed and said, "Yes, sir." She left.

Yzma stood with the jar in hand, unsure of what to do.

"Well?" Chessco asked with a smile, "Is that ointment going to just leap out of the jar and land on my skin all by itself?"

Yzma's stomach lurched. He was asking her to anoint him.

"Where…is it needed, Master?"

"The head and feet," was his answer.

She walked to the edge of the bed and carefully removed his sandals, her heart racing in her chest. No one, except his most trusted servants, was allowed to touch him, especially here in his room. For the emperor to ask you to touch him was one of the highest honors you could hope for.

Yzma unscrewed the lid and took some ointment into her hands. Indeed, his feet did need it. She could see the dryness. With the utmost care, she began to rub the paste into his skin. She finished that foot and did the other one. Now it was time for his forehead. This made Yzma even more nervous. She didn't want to look at him as she worked, and yet she had to if she didn't want to miss her target.

"What is in this?" he asked.

"The spices, you mean?"

Chessco nodded.

"Honey, mango water, strawberry water, and diced rose petals, sir, and then of course, there's the vines themselves that do the actual moistening of the skin. All the other things are just in it to make it smell good."

She was glad to be talking. She didn't want her mind wandering where it shouldn't.

"It's….nice," Chessco murmured. The combination of the sweet smell of the ointment and her rhythmic-moving hands over his forehead was making him drowsy. His eyes closed and she removed her hands from his head. She walked toward the door.

Yzma had the ability to see into the future. She avoided, however, looking into what would happen to her life because that could upset the balance of history and catastrophic mistakes could occur if she tried to change things. Now, as she turned to close the door, she looked back at the sleeping Chessco and began to sing as softly as possible a song that she had seen would be written in a future play about the Christian god's son.

"I don't know how to love him…."

Yzma kept hoping Chessco would call her to his room again, but he didn't. She was saddened by this and moped for several days, only emerging from her bed to eat and even then, she ate mechanically.

"Are you okay?" Rashana asked one day at dinner. The advisor and medicine woman were becoming fast friends.

"I'm fine!" Yzma snapped. "Nothing is wrong, everything's okay, okay?"

"Okay," Rashana said, a little surprised by her friend's sudden outburst.

A few days later, Yzma was gathering plants by the pool again. She was absent-minded and wasn't watching where she was going. Suddenly, she fell into the water. Her long black skirt, now heavy with water, was a perfect anchor. She struggled to stay afloat and cry out for help at the same time, all the while water filled her nose and mouth. She heard a splash beside her before she finally slipped underwater and lost consciousness.

Slowly, her senses began to come back to her. She was suddenly aware that she was lying on her back. Something soft and warm was all around her, but she did not have the strength to open her eyes to see what it was. She felt a presence and finally opened her eyes.

"I saved your plants!" Chessco announced with a smile. "They're wet, but hopefully that won't mind." He was lying beside her and she realized with both euphoria and shock that they were both lying in his bed.

"How….did I get here?" Yzma asked. Her tongue felt as heavy and hard to move as a rock.

"I heard screams and I jumped from the balcony and grabbed you after you slipped under. Seriously, Yzma, how much do you weigh? You felt like a feather when I carried you."

She really wished she hadn't been unconscious! He had held her and she wasn't even awake to feel it!

"So, do you need anything? Are you okay?" As he spoke, he wriggled closer to her. Yzma felt a jolt of indescribable euphoria in her and at the same time, she felt a stab of panic. Here they were, alone, in his room, lying on his bed. She couldn't trust herself. She needed to go, to be in the dark coolness of the medicine basement.

"I'm fine," she said and rolled off the side of the bed. Her legs felt weak. She could hardly stand. Yzma collapsed on her hands and knees. Her windpipe felt extremely small. She felt like she was breathing air through a tiny straw. She was dimly aware that Chessco had left the bed and now was bending over her, his hands on her back. She wanted to pull away from him—her sanity and purity depended on it. She jerked away and turned to look at him. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment. He reached out a hand to touch her face, but before he could caress her cheek, she got up and ran.

The next few days, Yzma stayed down in the basement. She had Rashana bring her meals so she didn't even leave for eating.

"Why are you down here?" Rashana asked one day as Yzma sat eating some mashed potatoes.

She only kept eating.

"The servants are worried about you. Everyone's asking where Yzma is." Rashana rose from the bed where the two were sitting and tugged Yzma's arm. "Come on, let's go up there together."

With a sudden burst of ferocity, Yzma jumped to her feet, plucked her plate and spoon on the nightstand, and whipped around to face her friend.

"Don't you understand?" she shouted at Rashana, "I _want_ to be here!" She took a few breaths, and then went on sounding much calmer. "You see, up there, there is a man I just can't face right now. You see, I love him."

"Who is it?"

Yzma's voice quavered as she said, "The emperor".

"Oh….it is, is it?" Rashana asked. She said it more like a statement than a question.

"Yes!" Yzma said quietly. "So now you know."

"You have to tell him," Rashana said. "A group of virgins—potential brides for him—is coming tomorrow. He may be married soon. Go. Make haste, my friend!"

Yzma reached the top of the stairs. She ran to his room and knocked at the door.

"I—I am very—sorry to—disturb you so—unexpectedly, sir," she panted breathlessly as Chessco stared at her. "I—have something very important to say."

She took a few gulping breaths and then gasped, "I love you."

He clasped her wrists in his hands and drew her inside. He shut and licked the door. He seized her again and kissed her and then she left.

After dinner, he called her to his room. When she was inside, Chessco opened a window and began to climb down a rope ladder that led to the ground. He motioned for Yzma to follow and she did.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as they walked through the underbrush. Dusk was fading and speckles of orange and pink and gold were barely visible through the trees.

"To someplace special," he replied. "I only know where it is. It is where….an emperor and his bride go on their wedding night. It is a clearing—a walled-in clearing that has been used for centuries. The new royal couple go there on their wedding night, and only then, never to speak of it again. "

Yzma stopped and grabbed his hand.

"No, sir, no, I can't walk there—I can't go there knowing what your intentions are. It wouldn't be respectful to your ancestors. We are in different circumstances."

"No, we're not," Chessco said with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his black eyes. "Every couple that has gone to that clearing has been made up of two people in love. Is that not what we are?"

"Yes, but—."

He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way as though she were a child.

The clearing was surrounded completely by a brick wall. It was accessible by climbing up a rope ladder over the wall. Inside, it looked like any other clearing, but in its center was a bed with a yellow canopy, red silk sheets, and blue silk pillows. Still carrying her, Chessco drifted towards the bed as the first stars began to peek out.

The next day, Yzma awoke in the bed in the garden. She looked at the shadows of the leafy tree branches that the canopy projected to her. They danced and waved at her, putting her in a good mood. She rolled over and looked at Chessco, who still lay asleep beside her.

Suddenly, last night came back to her and the seriousness of what they had done washed over her. If this was discovered, Chessco could lose his throne and Yzma would be executed.

He was soon awake.

"Listen," he said. "I must choose a wife today. If social status didn't matter, it would be you, but the world doesn't work that way. But I want you to remember something—no matter who I pick today, you're the one who will always hold my heart in your hand." He kissed her and they left the clearing.

Chessco was married two weeks later to a woman whose father was a wealthy textile merchant.

Yzma lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling as she had been doing for the past month. Rashana brought her the daily meals, but she hardly ate them. She wanted to die. She wanted to lie there and waste away due to malnutrition and a broken heart.

The night she knew Chessco went into the clearing with his new wife, she had wept enough to flood the Amazon twice. The emperor, as was the honorary and custom thing to be, was a virgin when he married. The night he lost his purity was always written in the royal records. So, the morning Chessco returned from the clearing with his wife, it was written that the night before, he had lost his virginity. Every time she remembered that, Yzma smiled.

It pleased her greatly to know the royal records, for the first time in history, contained a lie.

About nine months later, Yzma, dressed in a hooded brown cloak, hurried to the Spanish seaside town of Susana Catalina. It had been a weeklong journey and all the way, she had carried with her a small, warm little bundle. She dreaded what she had to do. No one knew what she was up to. She had told them she was returning to her native home of the Endasi Empire for a visit.

She made her way through the neighborhood of the grandees, through the shacks of the poor, through the sick colonies, and through the marketplace. At last, she heard a man shouting in Spanish, "The bidding is now at fifty! Fifty pesos for such a strong young woman! Come, gentlemen, she can harvest half a field by herself in half an hour! Just imagine what she could do with the help of your other slaves at home! Come! Come! Do I hear any more? Fifty? Going once, twice, sold—to Senor Montula for fifty pesos!"

Yzma made her way to the auction block, clutching the bundle to her chest. It squirmed a bit. She walked up the creaky, unstable wooden steps as the slave who was just sold was led away. The auctioneer had called a lunch break and she found this the right time to approach him.

"_Por favor, senor,_" she said in a raspy whisper, her face barely visible due to her hood, "Please sell my child. He is new to the world, can be taught anything his master chooses. He is of good health, nothing ails him,"

The man inspected the child—eyes, limbs, mouth—and then asked Yzma, "What is his name?"

"He has none. His master may call him what is appropriate."

"He seems fine. Very well, woman, I will sell him."

He turned to the crowd.

"This just in!" he shouted, "A child—a newborn baby for sale! Strong, young, perfect for a green plantation owner! Who will take him home to Spain with them, eh? That is where you all will depart next week—to Spain. Who will take him? Do I hear twenty? Twenty! Do I hear twenty-five? Forty?"

About a year later, the royal couple had their first child—a daughter name Keumah. Yzma was sick to her stomach. This was not the emperor's first child—his first child was on a ship bound for a life of poverty and suffering when he should have been treated like a king. That night, she went out to the clearing and planted seeds in the cracks of the brick wall. In a few months, the wall was covered with foliage and the rope ladder was covered so with moss that it was now unusable. There, now no one could ever get into the clearing again! Two days after the daughter's birth, Rashana came down with cholera. Three days later, she died and Yzma was appointed to the position of advisor.

Eight years later, the royal couple had their second child. It was a son. His name was Kuzco. When everyone went to his baptism, Yzma refused to go. She would not face the boy. She refused to see him. She went before the alter of her gods and prayed the same prayer every day, "High Ones, if You aren't going to make Chessco mine, kill someone of the royal family." Months passed. Nothing happened. "Kill, Spirits! Kill someone!" She prayed this curse again and again and again.

One day, Chessco went hunting. There were plenty of huntsmen who would gladly do this, but Chessco was one of those people who liked to do things for himself, so he took up his bow and arrows and set off. He never came back. The next afternoon, his body was carried back to the palace. The guards who found him said he had fallen from a ledge while being chased by a pack of jaguars he had been hunting.

A few months after Chessco's death, his wife had his second daughter, a girl named Kitt. Yet a few years later, the mother and her two daughters were dead, all of different causes. Now, all that was left was the boy. Yzma, who believed that her prayers had killed his parents and sisters, felt that it was her duty to raise the child. Kuzco was now eight years old. Yzma had never seen him before and she was dreading her first meeting with him.

He was brought to her basement, dressed in the robe that all royal children wore—a simple, floor-length blue robe that was of dyed alpaca wool. Yzma sat in a high-backed chair facing the roaring fireplace. She suddenly felt old and very tired. She heard the shuffling of the boy's feet stop a few feet from the chair. She could sense his apprehensiveness.

"You needn't be frightened, boy," she said stiffly without turning to look at him. "Come closer."

He did and Yzma turned to look at him for the first time.

Kuzco met her gaze, though she could tell he was afraid to. His hands were humbly clasped and his shoulders sagged a bit. Yet Yzma did not care about his timid posture. She was drawn to his face. She stared.

"I can't believe…." she whispered, "Your eyes! They're so much like….like your father's."

They were quiet, then,

"I did not know what my father looked like."

Yzma felt pity begin to rise in her and she quickly chopped it down and buried it.

As Kuzco grew day by day, Yzma noticed more and more that he would turn many heads as he matured. She began to think of how Chessco had been that handsome and how many prosperous young women—his wife included—had wanted him only for his rank and for his looks. She decided that poor Kuzco would suffer the same fate. Maybe he would find someone he truly loved but could not wed for one reason or another, as had happened to his father. It was then and there that Yzma decided she would save the boy from such a gloomy destiny.

So from early on, she taught Kuzco that, since the dawning of time, boys had always been superior to girls, that when they became adults, men dominated over women. She taught him all the things about the roles of women that made them look lesser than him. She rewarded him when he slapped or spat on the face of a female servant who had displeased him. By the time he was ten years old, he held a long-implanted, dark grudge against the opposite gender that Yzma was proud to say she had created.

Yet as she watched him one day swimming in the Shazah, a river near the palace, she noticed how handsome he was already and how, though still only ten, he resembled his father greatly. She also saw someone else watching on the opposite bank—one of the servant girls, Matika, who was about Kuzco's age. Yzma saw a look in the girl's eyes that Yzma herself had once had when she watched Chessco swim. Immediately, her lessons for the young prince changed. She would get even with his dead mother for stealing away Chessco through Kuzco. She would train the boy to break women's hearts—and Matika was the first victim.

"Like the many crocodiles that line our riverbanks, the female lies in wait for the unsuspecting male. She draws him to her long enough to steal his seed from him with antics that stir the lust in him which he must learn to suppress if he is to save himself from being the victim of her malicious intent to use him as the creator of her child, only to throw him away when she has succeeded."

This was a diary entry Kuzco wrote when he was only twelve years old. Yzma smiled as she read it. The boy had shattered Matika, who had fled the palace when her heart was broken and never returned, and since then, many others had met her fate. If Kuzco could do this now, she could only imagine what he would do when he was a man—when the time came for him to choose a wife. Ah, that would be the greatest reward of all! And so, she raised him to shatter one girl after another until his heart was a block of ice and he had no desire to possess one of the opposite gender.

Yzma had thrived in that revenge, drank it in like an alcoholic drank her precious wine. The more she drank, the more she wanted, the more oblivious she was to the fact that through her vengeance, she was only causing more suffering and that the boy only went along with her lessons to save himself a whipping and that deep down, he really wanted to find someone to love. But of course, Yzma never knew this, so why are you reading this?

Because Kuzco wrote it.


End file.
